Irish Coffee
by Kokolo
Summary: It was jus a thought. A single, solitary thought - what if Craig Tucker got Tweek Tweak drunk? Surely the answer would be simple enough to find out. - Creek Oneshot. M for implied naughty


**Hey look more Creek who woulda thunk it. **  
**Gift fic for my friend and Creek creeper. She wanted some drunk!Tweek. I apparently made it into something all stylized 'CAUSE THAT'S HOW I ROOLLLLLL**

**Enjoy!**

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It was jus a thought. A single, solitary thought that brought all this about. Just one little thing – but then again it was always the littlest, stupidest things that stuck, wasn't it? And it was all Clyde's fault, to be perfectly honest. He made this offhanded comment about noises and jittery and Tweek being a pain in the ass and somehow that lead the conversation to how different drinks affected him and that lead to booze and how that might calm him down because honestly if cough syrup had trouble slowing him down then maybe a blackout would, Clyde said. Anyway, it wormed its way under his skin and fucking _stayed_ there until he finally did something about it.

Which brought them to the present.

Craig Tucker was sitting in his room with Tweek Tweak drinking coffee. This in and of itself was rather strange, him being frightened of the Tucker boy more often than not, and the thought of being alone with him where he could easily murder him and dispose of his body made Tweek shriek involuntarily. But he'd relented this time. Craig had told Tweek that he used a different, new creamer that his father got a hold of through a friend or something. Instantly the coffee addict had been interested in what Craig had to offer, and Craig was somewhat shocked to find that he actually had to struggle with himself to keep from breaking into a manic grin.

Craig had invited him over that weekend after teasing and taunting him throughout the week, just to make sure Tweek's interest would stay put and override his unnaturally high self-preservation instinct. Craig was pleased to find it did, and to find the shivering blond on his doorstep sputtering a greeting and one of his tweekish noises.

Without all that much talking or pretense, Craig had invited (pulled) Tweek into his house and guided (pushed) him up the stairs and told him to wait while he fixed their drinks. Tweek had eagerly grabbed his when Craig returned, having gone a whole five minutes without a fix, and Craig sat down with him, watching his reaction while putting the large pot of freshly made brew on his nightstand.

Tweek had, as predicted, took a few gulps the second it was in his hands. The reaction was just as immediate. Tweek coughed and looked down at his coffee, incredulous how something so scared to him could taste so _wrong_. Craig watched him, wondering if Tweek could stomach the mixture of whiskey, cream, sugar, and Folgers while he sipped his own mug of straight black brew. As predicted and regardless of his initial dislike, Tweek kept drinking his coffee, because that was what Tweek did. And Craig kept supplying him with more, because Craig was, among other things, a bad friend.

Six or so cups in, Tweek wasn't so much twitchy and neurotic anymore as he was sway-y and hiccupy. He started getting blurry eyed and slurred voice and _giggly_ of all things just about the time Craig ran out of liquid to supply him with. Tweek and Craig hadn't even said a word to each other since the first cup, and yet Tweek broke into a weirdly huge grin and started laughing periodically at absolutely nothing. When Craig worked up the will to ask what it was he found so funny, Tweek babbled nonsense, sputtered, and laughed harder. Craig left him be until that fit subsided.

Not to long after that, Tweek stopped laughing. He let the cup drop out of his hand (which Craig scooped up and put on the nightstand with his empty mug and coffee pot) and abruptly flopped over onto his side. Craig stared. Tweek popped up suddenly and stared right back, a weird half grin on his face, his normally bright and worried eyes clouded over with drink and lined with blood vessels.

"Y-You're all… You're pretty eyes. You've got'em." Tweek slurred, grabbing Craig's shoulder for support.  
"Oh?"  
"Myeah." He poked at Craig's eye "They're all… fuckin' _blue_, man. Jesus."  
"Yep."

Craig was non-discriminatory when it came to things like this. A mouth was a mouth, and so long as it did what it was doing well he had no qualms with it. Tweek, as it turned out, was surprisingly talented. He wondered how and why, but chalked it up to booze making him bold and just dumb luck, and maybe to Craig not getting anything aside from his hand in a little while.

But something funny was happening – aside from Tweek kissing him rather well, anyway. Craig shifted a little and felt Tweek bend into him, taking up the right space and filling in the empty parts. It was weird. He kind of never felt this good before. He pushed Tweek down onto the bed by his shoulders, kissing the smaller, weaker boy hungrily. Tweek reacted nicely, whining in the back of his throat and wiggling around under him.

Craig decided he wanted in Tweek's mouth (and wherever else Tweek would let him get to) around the time Tweek hitched and fucking _moaned_ like he'd just sipped the most perfect cup of coffee he'd ever had. So Craig acted on that impulse, sliding his fingers into Tweek's hair, balancing himself on his elbows, and sliding his tongue over Tweek's bottom lip. The intoxicated blonds' mouth fell open instantly, moaning again and letting him in to do as he pleased. Craig tasted coffee, first and foremost. The piercing sting of whiskey followed after, biting at his tongue. After that came a wave of guilt (or nausea, he wasn't sure which).

Leave it to Craig Tucker to cockblock himself.

Reluctantly he pulled himself from the thin, wriggling body, sitting on the edge of the bed. He watched Tweek arch up, then collapse, looking dumbfounded and shivering from the lack of heat and mouth to kiss. He turned his muddy hazel eyes to Craig, who stared back. Tweek made this low, keening whine in the back of his throat, reaching for him and beckoning him closer. When that didn't work Tweek forced himself up on wobbly arms and fell against him, pinning him ineffectively to the bed. Craig could have easily pushed him off, but couldn't bring himself to do so, even before Tweek slithered up and caught his lip between his teeth until Craig kissed him again to get it back.

"Don' stop." Tweek moaned into his mouth, filling his nose and throat with heady, thick intoxicant.

Craig didn't.

O/O

Tweek woke up the next morning on Craig's bed beside Craig, sore and stiff and cotton mouthed, his head and neck and body throbbing. Craig played good host and offered him cup after cup of black coffee until his normal shakes returned and his headache subsided.

Craig told him it was the gnomes, and Tweek nodded solemnly and drank another two pots.

"Did –urk!- did they get you too?"  
"No, I got them. Was making the coffee I told you about and then came up. Had to throw it at them and kick them out."  
"Oh –nngh!- Oh God! I'm sorry Craig!"  
"Don't be."  
"It's all my fault! AUGH!"  
"It's not."  
"S-Sorry Craig."  
"It's okay. I forgive you."

O/O

It became a pattern. A routine. Craig had done too good of a job tempting Tweek and he kept asking, begging for it, for another chance. Craig couldn't find it in him to say no, not to that face or those eyes or those lips.

He invited Tweek over again that weekend, gave him the mixture of whiskey and coffee and cream, and watched normal neurotic Tweek deteriorate into intoxicated, wanton Tweek while he casually sipped his untainted cup.

Craig thought about drinking too so he could blame his behavior on mutual mistake, but he never touched a drop of whiskey except to serve the blond more or to take from his soaked tongue. He knew it was deplorable, what he did to the innocent blond, and under any other circumstance he was a despicable, horrible person.

But Tweek had asked him every time to keep going, and Craig couldn't resist.

Craig sat off to the side of the bed on his desk, letting Tweek sprawl out and take up as much space as he needed. The blond was stripped and sweaty and bruised, but was sleeping peacefully for a change. Craig would dress him sooner or later, but not right now. Right now was time for thinking how terrible of a person he was and letting his smoke dangle from his mouth and the ashes burn his carpet.

He shifted, watching Tweek inhale and exhale, watching the red marks on him move and shift. He reached around himself and felt a few lines – scratches from broken and jagged fingernails digging into his back. He felt the breeze on his back from the window, pebbling his skin and tightening the marks. He'd feel them worse in the morning – but then again so would Tweek, and the thinner boy had bore the brunt of the situation.

Craig stubbed the cigarette out on the windowsill and stood, stretching his sore back. He tied his sleep pants more securely around his waist and went about gathering up Tweek's clothing, putting each article on carefully until he was restored to his normal, disheveled self. He'd have to remember not to strip him down next time (if there _was_ a next time, he warned himself) lest he go through all this trouble again. Surely Tweek would notice some day, at some point in the near future. Then what would he have to say?

Probably something like 'here are your boxers' and then nothing else because Tweek would have had a heart attack or jumped out the window screaming rape.

He sat beside his bed, on the floor, picking at his carpet. Tweek was on his side, fully clothed now, breathing even and deep with well-deserved sleep. Craig tilted his head to look at him, his peaceful face, the red mark just below that under some of his chaotic hair. He raised his hand to brush it out of the way so he could get a better look.

Tweek trembled under him.

It took all Craig had to remember he was asleep and he wasn't afraid.

Be that as it may, Craig's hand decided to slide up to the calm face, pushing various strands away while the rest of Craig looked on passively, casually observing the outlandish and rather gay actions of his right hand as it affectionately pet and stroked the pale, sleeping face.

Craig couldn't understand why, but he didn't stop it either.

O/O

It had happened again, which in and of itself wasn't surprising, but what did throw Craig off some was Tweek's reaction.

Instead of passing out shortly after the act, he held Craig's arm and just looked up at him. Craig looked back, hovering over the thinner body though his arms were shaking. They didn't break eye contact save to blink, only relenting when Tweek slowly shut his eyes and fell asleep.

Craig realized a moment after Tweek's breathing even out that his eyes had been clear and unclouded by bloody lines or dilated by lust.

He didn't invite Tweek over the next week.

O/O

Craig buckled a short while later and let Tweek back into his room, holding the door open in one hand and a pot of tainted coffee in the other. He told himself he wasn't going to add the whiskey, that he was going to give Tweek a regular cup of coffee and send him on his way before he gave into the slurred command to keep going.

But instead he added scotch.

Same shit, different day.

O/O

Tweek looked at his coffee cup, then back at Craig, twitching some. He didn't drink, but he lowered his gaze back to the black, steaming liquid that was currently eating up the whipped cream. He licked his lips and twitched slightly, his body vibrating like normal. After what seemed like a few moments of thought he set aside the cup and looked up at the other boy, his eyes clear and shining.

"You didn't h-have to."

Craig left the room.

O/O

Tweek found him on the roof, and immediately expressed his concern about broken necks and backs and alien abductions while Craig smoked and thought (but mostly smoked).

Eventually he came down, hopping from the roof to the garage to a snowdrift, where he struggled to keep his balance and mostly succeeded. Tweek was on him in an instant, reaching out to grab his coat. Craig ducked out of the way and attempted to make his escape while Tweek chattered on, still grabbing for him, begging for him to stop. The thin blond succeeded in getting snow up his shirt and in his hair and face and, finally, grabbing a piece of Craig as he reached the driveway.

His chullo, to be exact.

Craig reacted somewhat violently, turning to grab it before it wound up entirely in Tweek's possession. He made the mistake of looking at Tweek at all, and though he attempted to drop and twist his vision anywhere else the panicked blond mess filled up his eyes instead. Craig knew it would only take a quick tug to send Tweek tumbling down on asphalt and snow and get his hat back but he hesitated, feeling Tweek's tremors transfer through the threads of his hat.

"I-'m sorry!" Tweek cried, gripping his end of the hat with al of his might "I'm sorry! It's -urk!- my fault! I should have stopped b-but I –nngh- I c-couldn't make myself. Oh sweet Jesus I'm such a –argh!- fuck up..."

_/No Tweek you aren't YOU AREN'T I'm the stupid fuck that did all this to you I took advantage of you and used you and marked you and lied to you because I'm sick I'M SICK and disgusting and I hate myself but I can't stop Tweek I won't stop I can't I need this now it's too much to let go of now you're stuck in me now and I can't let you go never I won't I WON'T Tweek I need-/_

Tweek stared with what Craig thought was a horrified look on his face.

He'd figured out a moment later he'd said his thoughts out loud without giving his mouth express permission to do so.

Craig figured he'd cut his losses then. He flipped himself off, let go of his hat and turned to leave. Where he was going, he wasn't sure, but it would be a hell of a lot better than standing there and looking like the dumbass he was. He was so taken with this idea of fleeing that he didn't notice the thump on his back or the sudden shaking weight trying to squeeze it's way into his coat. He did notice his hat trapped in white fingers, quaking against his chest.

"I-I never –urk!- wanted you t-to, Craig." Tweek whispered into his back "I-I.. Oh Jesus. I –nngh- _wanted_ you to."  
"How long?"  
"_Years_! Augh!"  
"No, I mean how long were you sober?"  
"Th-three weeks."  
"Oh."

Craig supposed it was that simple. Tweek wanted him, he wanted Tweek (at least to get off) and that was good enough for him. He was almost sure there was more to it than that, but Craig never was one for figuring all that extra bullshit out.

"A-Are you mad?"  
"No. Not at you." Craig paused long enough to turn around in Tweek's grip "I won't get you drunk anymore."  
"O-okay." Twek removed his hands and looked down at his feet, twitching "C-Can we –urh!- st-still?"  
"What."  
"Oh Jesus! Nnggh too much pressure!"  
"What?"  
"Can we still fuck?" Tweek's face flared up at the sudden admission "Ack!"  
"Yep."  
"Oh sweet Jesus!"  
"C'mon."

Craig dragged Tweek back inside, dusted the snow off of himself, then continued dragging Tweek up the stairs and into his room, tossing his skinny frame on the bed. He caught sight of the abandoned mugs and pot on his nightstand mid lean-down-for-kiss. Much to Tweek's dismay, he rolled off the small body and got up to pour the cold, spiked coffee down the bathroom drain first.

But Craig soon made it (and everything else) up to him.

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**Thanks for reading!**


End file.
